Save Me, Rafael, My Archangel
by JacksBoonie
Summary: Heero must infiltrate an asylum, and there's only one way to get himself admitted, but can he keep himself from truly going insane? 1x2 3x4
1. Chapter One

AN: Well, Kats and Kittens, I've decided to try a little 1x2 again. I haven't for quite some time, and I don't even think I have 1x2 on my site yet. So, here goes nothing, eh? Hope you guys like it. It's proving to be . . . challenging.

Disclaimer: I do not own Gundam Wing. I do not own the characters of Gundam Wing.

Note: Takes place four years after Endless Waltz. Flashbacks are in //_italics_.//

Save Me, Rafael, My Archangel

_Chapter One:_

"It's been a week, Mr. Maxwell. He's shown no sign of progress."

The words filter through Duo's mind faintly, bringing him to only one conclusion: He has lost his husband.

//_"Heero? You home?" Duo calls as he enters their loft. He clicks the lightswitch beside the door, but nothing happens, and a sinking feeling settles in his stomach. _

_"Heero?" He calls again, desperation lacing his tone. He enters the den to find it in complete disarray. Their leather couch has been torn to shreds, books are scattered everywhere with their pages lying about in crumpled heaps, and the glass coffee table has been shattered, pieces crunching beneath his boots as he slowly makes his way through the room. _

_Suddenly, the sound of labored breathing reaches his ears, and a frantic movement from the corner catches his eye. He squints into the darkness and nearly stumbles as his knees weaken. Heero sits huddled on the floor, his knees drawn up and his fingers clenching his hair. His chest shudders with every breath, and he rocks back and forth rythmically, his lips trembling slightly. _

_"Oh my God! Heero!" Duo rushes towards the man, leaning down in front of him and gently grasping his forearms. "Hee-"_

_A horrible, screeching noise comes from Heero's mouth, and he pulls away from the braided man, attempting to burrow even further into the corner. Duo blinks in confusion and surprise, turning his hands over to find a sticky, red liquid coating his palms and fingers. _

_"Holy shit," he breathes as tears spring to his eyes. "Heero, wh-what happened? Who did this?"_

_"People," Heero whispers, his eyes growing wide. "People, so many people!"_

_"What people, baby? Who **did** this to you?" Duo tries to place a hand behind the other's head, but Heero only flinches away from his touch, whimpering. _

_"So many faces. So many bloody, lifeless faces." The babbling continues. "Sleeping in rubble forever, in puddles of red. Wake them up, Duo. Wake them up!" _

_"Shh, honey, I'm gonna make this all better. Don't worry. Everything's going to be fine." Duo's cheeks glisten as tears stream from his eyes, and he stands, pulling his cellphone out. He sniffles, wiping his eyes to better see the buttons and dials the only number that comes to mind. _

_"Preventer headquarters," a cheerful voice answers. "How may I direct your call?"_

_"This is Major Duo Maxwell, code: 011797. I have an injured officer, and I need an ambulance and Major Chang deployed to my apartment **asap**."_

_"Yes, Major. I'll notify them immediately." _

_0 o 0 o 0_

_Wufei sighs, approaching Duo with an averted gaze as he rubs one of his temples. _

_"Well?" The braided man asks impatiently, his arms crossed. He shifts restlessly from one foot to the other. It has been nearly half an hour since the medical team and Duo's Preventer partner had arrived, and Duo has waited anxiously for Wufei to finish his search so that he can go to the hospital. _

_Wufei takes a breath before starting his analysis, "There was no sign of forced entry, and, as you said, the door was locked when you came home, so I'm guessing the intruder either climbed up and down seven stories . . . or there wasn't an intruder at all." _

_"What are you saying? That **Heero** could have done this?" Duo demands incredulously. _

_"Did he say anything to you? Anything at all?"_

_"No! . . Yes! . . God, he started babbling about people and bloody faces. Something about sleeping in rubble. None of it made any sense." Wufei nods, remaining silent for a moment. " 'Fei . . . **Please**, tell me what's going on with my husband." _

_The Chinese man stares at him hard, replying, "I spoke with the paramedics before they left. The cuts on Heero's arms appeared to be in an organized pattern, something known as 'box cutting.' "_

_"Wh-What are you saying?" Duo repeats his earlier statement, his arms dropping to his side as he takes a step back. _

_"The wounds were self-inflicted, Duo," Wufei says firmly, taking a step towards him and making sure to keep eye contact. He knows that he is losing his friend, and if he doesn't ground him soon, he might not be able to get him back. "Heero-"_

_"No!" Duo turns, heading into the den, where the mess still lies and beginning to pace. "You're wrong. He couldn't have. He **wouldn't**."_

_He notices the corner where Heero lay curled in on himself -- the carpet is soaked in blood, and a large piece of glass sits nearby, the jagged edge coated crimson. Tears seep down his cheeks as he digs the heels of his palms into his eyelids and falls to his knees._//

"Mr. Maxwell?" The doctor's voice pulls him from his thoughts, and he turns to a large window, crossing his arms and looking out at the city below.

"Sorry. You were saying?" He replies softly, dazedly.

The doctor sighs sadly, clutching his clipboard to his chest and saying, "We're going to have to admit your husband to the Haeman Asylum. It's an institute for-"

"I know what it is," Duo interrupts, his gaze and position never shifting.

"You'll have to sign some consent forms."

"Of course."

There is a long silence before the doctor speaks again, his tone awkward yet practiced, as if he says the words all the time but still isn't quite used to them.

"We'll try to make the transition as smooth as possible. I'm very sorry, Mr. Maxwell."

"Yea. Me too," Duo states flatly.

0 o 0 o 0

"Wufei!" Quatre's face lights up, his lips spreading in a warm smile. "Come in, please." He steps back, allowing the Chinese man entrance to the Winner-Barton home.

"Quatre," Wufei nods as soon as he is inside. "I apologize for showing up out of the blue. I hope it's not an inconvenience."

"Not at all. Trowa and I were just discussing coming to visit. Were Duo and Heero unable to join you?"

"Actually, that's why I'm here," Wufei replies quietly, looking to the blonde man sadly.

"What's happened?" Trowa asks from the staircase, quickly making his way down towards them.

"It's Heero," Wufei sighs, shifting awkwardly as he clasps his hands behind his back. "Something's . . . _developed_."

AN: Comments? Questions? Vague disregard to any or all words written and established in the mind of one who has no sanity?

Feedback is _muy_ appreciated, Kats and Kittens. Hope it's not too boring so far . . . Eh? Later, Gators! Have a wondrous day/afternoon/evening. :)


	2. Chapter Two

AN: Well, Kats and Kittens, here I am again. How's things, eh? I suppose I could be better, but it's no surprise. I had an _amazing_ day yesterday, so it only figures that today should be shit. Oh well. Hopefully the rest of the week will go smoothly. So, to respond to a reviewer:

**darkrevenge**: None of the pilots know anything about this "mission." At least not yet . . . That is, if it really _is_ a mission. But you'll just have to read to find out, yes?

This chapter's gonna be a bit short, but I'll see what I can do for the next one, yea? Well, I'm done talking, so enjoy the next chapter, guys. Later!

_Chapter Two_:

"Post traumatic stress disorder. Can you believe that?" Duo scoffs and nearly breaks into hysteric laughter. He and Relena sit in the waiting room of the Preventer Headquarter's medical unit awaiting the arrival of Wufei, Quatre, and Trowa. "I mean, it's been _four years_ since the end of Mariemaia's war. How can this possibly be happening?" Relena places a hand on his back, gently rubbing it in an attempt to soothe the distressed man. He is on the verge of breaking down, tears welling dangerously close to the edge of his eyelids and a lump forming in his throat that constricts his airway.

"Duo?" A soft voice calls from down the hallway, and the braided man stands abruptly, recognizing it immediately.

"Quat," he breathes with a relieved smile, rushing towards the blonde pilot. They embrace tightly, and Duo buries his face into the crook of Quatre's neck, the tears beginning to flow as shuddering sobs wrack his body.

"Oh, Duo, I'm so sorry," Quatre whispers, stroking his hair and continuing to murmur softly into his ear.

The two had been involved in a relationship during the war. Briefly, mind you, but it had strengthened their bond beyond the word of "friendship." They loved each other dearly, but they had known that they could never be _in_ love. Trowa had understood right away, having felt the same thing with Catherine before she had become like a sister to him. But Heero had taken some time to convince. He had not grown up with such emotions and could not comprehend how the two could feel so deeply for one another and yet not be in love.

Duo is quite certain that he still does not understand, but he has accepted it, and that is all that really matters.

"God, Quat," the man cries sadly, his words muffled, "what could have happened? What's wrong? Why can't I fix him? Why isn't he getting better?"

"Shh, Duo," Quatre sqeezes him tighter. "It's going to be okay. Things will get better. You'll see." He aches painfully from the pure devastation dripping from his friend. He can only imagine what the older man is going through. His heart can sense another's emotions, yes, but only to a certain degree. The fact that he feels as if his chest will explode in agony can only mean that Duo's has already.

"Have the doctors told you anything new?" Wufei asks Relena softly, approaching her with Trowa at his side.

"They're admitting him," she replies stoically, attempting to keep her composure.

"Admitting him?" The Chinese man demands incredulously. "Where? Don't they need consent?"

"I've already signed the papers," Duo sniffles, dettaching himself from Quatre and wiping at his eyes. "They're transferring him to Haemon Asylum tomorrow morning."

"But Duo-" Wufei protests, but he is quickly interrupted.

"You've seen him, 'Fei!" Duo nearly shouts, his hands clenching into trembling fists at his sides. "He's not getting any better. There's . . . nothing left to do."

"Have you told him?" Trowa asks, placing a comforting hand on the braided man's shoulder.

Duo covers the hand with his own, squeezing it gratefully and saying, "This morning."

"How did he take it?" Quatre inquires, his arms wrapping around his husband's slim waist. Duo's eyes glaze over as the memory returns.

_//"Heero?"_

_Duo enters the hospital room timidly, wincing at the pure brightness of it. Everything is white. The machines, the sheets, the walls -- all white. _

_Heero does not answer. Of course he doesn't. He hasn't said a word since that day at their loft. He sits in a wheelchair in front of a large window on the far wall, staring out at the world that passes him by. _

_Duo slowly starts towards him, his lungs paralyzed. He swallows hard as he leans down in front of the wheelchair, disappointed when distant, cobalt eyes do not shift to his own. Bandages encase Heero's forearms, stark white with the exception of a few red blotches. The hospital gown is large but does nothing to conceal his bony frame. It's amazing how much weight one can lose in a matter of days, especially when one doesn't have all that much weight to lose in the first place. _

_"Baby, **please**," Duo whispers, placing a hand on the other's cheek. "Talk to me . . . They're going to send you away. Please, Heero, say **something**. Show them you're okay . . . Show them that I can take you home, so we can forget about this." But Heero remains unresponsive, and tears begin to flow down Duo's cheeks. "They're transferring you to an asylum in the morning. I'm not sure how long they'll make you stay . . . but I guess that's up to **you**, isn't it?" He stands, heading to the door, and leaves without so much as a glance backward.//_

"He didn't," Duo states numbly.

0 o 0 o 0

"What?"

Lucrezia Peacecraft stares incredulously at the screen before her, blinking once or twice before reading the words across it again.

"Something wrong, Lu?" Milliardo asks from behind her, leaning down to place his chin on her shoulder.

"It's a transmission from Relena," she replies solemnly. "Heero's been admitted to an asylum."

"_What_?" The man stiffens, his eyes scanning the screen. "Turn the shuttle around. We're heading back to Earth."

AN: Questions? Comments? Vague disregard to any or all words written and established in the mind of one who has no sanity?

Well, Kats and Kittens, what do you think? Continue? Burn it? Throw it back into the deepest, darkest stretches of my mind where no one will ever hear from it again, except the plot bunnies sitting at their little desks with their typewriters, wondering why the hell you people didn't appreciate their hard work? Gimme a review, and I'll see what I can do. Suggestions are always nice, but an appraisal will suffice.

And before I go, I want to throw something at you. DUCK! I mean, I'd like to suggest a story summary for something that leaked out my brain about an hour ago when I should have been doing my homework for Child and Adolescent Growth and Development. Who cares about kids? SERIOUSLY/Ahem/ Anywho, here it is. Tell me what you think:

AU: Zechs Merquise is infatuated with fellow ice skater Heero Yuy, with whom he will be competing at an upcoming competition. Treize is an eager reporter attempting to get the hidden story on Heero, but is the young prodigy willing to delve into past memories? 1x2, 13x6

Eh?


	3. Chapter Three

AN: Wow, Kats and Kittens! You gave me such a spur into action, that I decided to post another chapter _stat_! Unfortunately, this means that the chapters will be coming slower, seeing as I've only got the first four and a half written as of yet, but hopefully I'll find time to write much much muchly over Midterm Break. YAY FOR NOT HAVING SCHOOL! Anyway, please enjoy the next chapter, yes? Yes.

And apologies in advance for how this first scene transpires. I "borrowed" the idea from another fic I read, and, while being somewhat annoying, it is the only way I could get away with repeating myself over and over and over.. /rambles for quite some time/ ..and still sounding somewhat like a decent writer (if I can be called as such, that is). Once you read it, I'm sure you'll understand my plight of having to approach it this way, and I promise that this will be the only time I use this way to represent a scene between Heero and his psychologist (W00t! A doc!) . . . At least that I'm aware of right now. So, stop reading this and get on with the story, yea? Excellent.

_Chapter Three:_

Haeman Asylum Permanent Records

Patient: Heero Yuy

Admitted for: Self-Mutiliation, Suspected Psychosis, Catatonic Schizophrenia, Diagnosed PTSD

Medications: Mild sedative -- given every five hours intraveniously

Doctor: Michael Allyn

First Recorded Session: March 18 AC200, 0900

Doctor Allyn - Good morning, Mr. Yuy. My name is Doctor Allyn. You can call me Mike. Would you mind if I call you Heero?

Heero is silent.

DA - Alright, why don't we get started. Do you know why you're here?

Heero is silent.

DA - Well, you were taken to the Dorlian Memorial Hospital located at Preventer Headquarters nearly two weeks ago with several lacerations on your arms, and after a week in their care, you were sent here. Is that information correct?

Heero is silent.

DA - You know, Heero, these sessions will go by a lot quicker if you actually participate, and it will also determine how soon you leave our institution.

Heero is silent.

DA - It's okay, though. Don't be discouraged. Many patients are hesitant to talk during the first session. So here's what we'll do -- I'll just sit here and have a conversation, and if you feel like jumping in, feel free to do so. Sound good to you?

Heero is silent.

DA - Good. Well, you've been here for three days already. I apologize for not being able to meet with you sooner, but a few of our psychiatrists have been transferred, so my patient load has nearly doubled until we can hire new ones. But have no fear, we'll still be able to meet regularly. I believe I have you scheduled once a week for now, but if you plan on being _this_ talkative during our sessions, I may have to bump it up to twice a week.

Heero is silent.

DA - Don't worry, Heero. I haven't given up hope yet. Your records indicate that you _can_, in fact, actually speak, so I'll just wait until you feel comfortable enough to talk. But, again, I must stress that the sooner you do, the sooner you're on your way to recovery.

Heero is silent.

DA - I know. It's positively _cheesy_, but my job requires that I say it, so what can you do?

Heero is silent.

DA - I suppose we can cut our session short for today. I can see your enthusiasm is _severly_ lacking, but no worries, we'll have you doing cartwheels soon enough. I'll have the nurse take you back to your room. Until next week, Heero. Don't have too much fun without me.

-End Session-

0 o 0 o 0

"I don't want to see him."

"Duo, please," Quatre begs the man, taking his cold, unresponsive hand in both of his own. "It's bad enough that he has to stay there. How will he feel if his own husband doesn't want to visit him?"

"I said no," Duo replies stiffly, gripping the arm of the plush sofa tightly. Quatre and Trowa had invited the braided man to stay with them after he refused to return to the loft. As far as he knows, it still lays in shambles. "I _can't_ see him, Quat."

The blonde sits down beside him, brushing a few stray brunette strands from his friend's forehead, saying, "Duo . . ."

"I can't see him in that place!" Duo shouts angrily, standing abruptly and pacing the small study. Trowa and Wufei watch him from across the room.

"It would mean a lot to him to see you," the tall, lean man points out quietly. "Even if he's unable to show it, the fact that you support him will greatly affect his attitude. You should go, Duo. For _his_ sake, at least."

Duo stops pacing, Trowa's words sinking in slowly. He's right, of course. This is about Heero. And if his husband needs him, then so be it.

"Alright," he nods. "Let's go."

0 o 0 o 0

"Mr. Yuy?"

Heero's clouded mind nearly misses the words as a young, slim nurse leans down into his line of vision, an expectant look on her face. The sedative that this place continues to administer to him is somewhat stronger than he had expected and will take quite a bit of concentration to build a tolerance to, but he has no doubt that he will overcome it within the week.

"You have visitors, Mr. Yuy. Your husband is here and a few friends of yours too. They'd really like to see you."

So they're finally making an appearance. Heero does not know whether he should have expected them earlier or later, but either way, they are going to be an annoyance. He will have to get rid of them as quickly as possible and make sure they do not get the urge to visit him again . . . at least not for a while. Convincing them will take great measures, even if it means having to hurt them . . .

_Especially_ Duo.

AN: Questions? Comments? Vague disregard to any or all words written and established in the mind of one who has no sanity?

Well, I hope you survived through that horrendous ordeal. I, myself, almost fainted from the lack of any kind of actual writing I had to do for that first scene. Then again, how many ways are there to say "Heero is silent" without repeating oneself? So, again, my sincerest apologies, and it will not happen again. EVER. /Huddles in corner with Heero/

Me: S'okay, Heero. /strokes brunette strands/

Heero is silent

Me: DAMN IT! That's gonna follow me around for the rest of my life . . .


	4. Chapter Four

AN: Well, hello, Kats and Kittens! How's things, eh? Thanks so much for all the reviews! I'm so glad you're enjoying the story. This is the last full chapter that I have written out, so it may take a while for me to update, what with school and whatnot. But I hope this one will satisfy you . . . at least for a little while. Enjoy!

_Chapter Four: _

Duo grips Quatre's hand tighter as they near the large institute's lounge area, the buffer between the male and female wards, where a nurse had told them Heero will be. The smell of rubbing alcohol wafts through his nose unpleasantly. He hates sterile environments. They're just too . . . _clean_. And white -- oh-so white. Just like the hospital. This thought causes him to shudder, and Quatre turns to look at his paling face.

"It's okay, Duo," he squeezes the hand in his with a reassuring smile, leading the man into the lounge. Trowa and Wufei follow closely. Heero sits in a corner in a large armchair, its size making him look small and almost child-like.

"Heero," Quatre greets quietly, pulling Duo to stand beside him, "look who's come to see you." Heero's gaze does not shift to any of the figures standing before him, but Duo leans down, looking straight into his line of vision.

"Hey, baby," he whispers, caressing his husband's cheek lightly. "how're they treatin' you?"

"What are you doing here?" The words are soft, but they startle Duo nonetheless. They are the first from Heero's lips in almost two weeks.

"We came to see you," the braided man replies, a hopeful sheen taking his eyes. "To see how you're doing."

"What the _fuck_ are you doing here?" The words are louder now, harsher, and Duo cringes as Heero grabs his wrist and pulls his hand away.

"Heero? What-" He is cut of abruptly as the other man, suddenly, stands and wrings his fingers around the flaps of his jacket.

"Mother fucker!" Heero screams, and Duo grunts as he is shoved up against the wall and pinned there. "I don't ever want to see your fucking face here again! Get out!"

Wufei and Trowa desperately attempt to wrestle the crazed man to the floor, failing miserably until two burly orderlies run into the room and assist them. One of the white-uniformed men holds a syringe, and he hurriedly removes the cap with his teeth, plunging the needle into the side of Heero's neck with a practiced accuracy and injecting the clear liquid within. Heero struggles for a few seconds more before the sedative begins to take affect, and he slowly goes limp, his chest still heaving from the exertion.

"Duo?" Quatre leans down to where the braided man has slunk to the floor. His eyes are wide and distant, and he barely seems to be breathing, staring at Heero's unconscious form. "Duo, are you all right?"

"Can we go, Quat?" Duo pleads in a soft voice, his tone hinting no emotion. "Can we _please_ just go?" Sadly, Quatre nods, helping his friend stand and motioning for Trowa and Wufei -- still stunned from the unexpected outburst -- to follow. Instructing the two to take Duo to the car, Quatre stops at the front desk.

"Excuse me," he says to the nurse, "would you please make sure Mr. Yuy gets this when he awakens?" He hesitantly holds out a small, folded piece of paper.

"Of course," the nurse nods with a smile, taking the object and placing it on the desk beside her.

"Thank you," the blonde man murmurs before hurriedly making his way to the front door.

0 o 0 o 0

_Heero - _

_I know this must be difficult for you. It's hard for us as well, especially Duo. He hasn't been doing well, you know. Probably just as bad as you. Please, Heero, whatever this is, get as much help as you can. We hate to see you like this. And we hate to see your husband suffer along with you. _

_- Quatre_

Heero reads the note over and over, as many times as he can until his eyes ache and he can recite it word for word. He won't be able to keep it. Not after that stunt. The privilege of keeping personal items is easily taken away. God damn rules. He clenches his jaw and thrusts the object back towards the nurse who gave it to him. She gives him a meek smile before turning sharply and leaving his room.

"Who was that from?"

Heero nearly growls as his roommate's voice filters from across the small bedroom. He couldn't have gotten a quiet one that sleeps all the time and never talks. No. He has to have the paranoid schizophrenic, who, when he's not busy scratching at invisible parasites and lice, is also a pathological liar. What is his name again? Benjamin. Right. Damn drugs are starting to take a toll on his memory recall.

"Hey, hey!" Benjamin persists. "Hey, Heero, buddy. We _are_ buddies, aren't we? 'Course we are. So, hey, what was that note all about? They recruiting you or something?" He's itching again. His scalp this time. By the looks of it, he'll scratch his head and fingers raw within half an hour. That is if the orderlies don't get to him first. They always seem to not notice anything until the last possible second -- that inevitable moment where the fingernails are just about to break the skin and let loose flowing red rivers. The image makes Heero wish he could cut himself again.

He shakes his head of this thought quickly. Where had _that_ come from? This is a mission, an assignment. He isn't _really_ losing his mind.

"Heero! Heero! That note! I know who it's from! It's the damn rebels, Heero! They want us to join the cause! To stand up against the Alliance! To fight!"

He _can't_ be going crazy.

Two orderlies and a nurse enter the room, and Benjamin springs to his feet, jumping restlessly from foot to foot on his bed.

He _isn't_ going crazy.

"Heero! They're here! The Alliance! They found the note! We have to fight back! Retaliate! Retal-"

He just _isn't_.

0 o 0 o 0

Heero, once again, finds himself in Doctor Allyn's office, his eyes wandering lazily as he waits for the man to finish writing in another patient's file. A large book case covers one wall, the shelves full to the brim and even overflowing with psychology texts of every sort, from Freud to Vygotzky to Piaget.

"Do you like books?" The doctor's voice pulls him back, and he turns his head to stare back at the shining, brown orbs trained on him, but he does not reply. "It's quite the collection. Truthfully, I only bought a few of them. The rest were either gifts or they belong to the institute's library. You're welcome to take one if you'd like. We can discuss it at our next session."

Heero looks to his lap, where his hands rest stiffly, clasped tightly in a white-knuckled embrace.

"I understand you had some visitors this week. Your husband and a few friends?" Michael inquires, leaning back in his chair and studying the quiet man intently. "I hear it wasn't the _best_ of meetings. You . . . attempted to harm your husband?"

"There was nothing 'attempted' about it." Heero cannot help the soft words that follow the man's observation. Well, he wanted him to talk. Let the games begin.

"So it was intentional?" The doctor asks, not skipping a beat. His tone is light, conversational, as if they have been talking for hours.

"Sort of spur of the moment," Heero shrugs, his gaze still concentrated on his hands.

"Did you want to kill him?"

"What is it you want to hear, Doctor?" Heero's tone is sharp, demanding. "That voices in my head tell me to do things I don't want to? I can assure you the only voices clambering around in my skull are my own -- my thoughts, my conscience. You want me to tell you that I hallucinate? That I see little pink elephants jumping over my head when I'm trying to sleep? That the bogeyman rapes me in my dreams? That Benjamin's fucking lice are jumping from his own delusions into mine?"

"If that's what you want to talk about," Michael replies, fiddling with the pen on his desk. "I'm here to listen to whatever you have to say."

"Well, listen closely, then," Heero says softly, looking up at the psychiatrist through his bangs. Michael suppresses a shiver as the purely sinister look seems to pierce him to his seat. For the first time, he finds an aching fear forming in the pit of his stomach. Never before has a patient been able to affect him like this. And he has the distinct feeling that this young man knows exactly how to manipulate that.

"I'm here for one reason and one reason only," Heero continues in a low tone. "When I'm finished with what I came for, I'll leave, and you'll never see me again."

"And what reason is that?" Michael inquires quietly, hoping his anxiety doesn't show through his words. Heero stands, suddenly, his chair moving backward a few inches with the abrupt exertion, and the doctor resists the urge to flinch. Slowly, the tousle-haired brunette makes his way to the bookshelf across the room, his over-sized, hospital-issue clothing swishing with every shuffled stride. He reaches out towards the only piece of fiction amidst the texts and cradles it close to his chest.

"If you don't mind, I'll borrow this one," he says softly, turning back to the desk.

"Th-That'll be fine," Michael nods, taking in the title of the rather thin book -- _The Metamorphosis_. When had he acquired that one? "Our session is over, Heero. You can return to your room." Heero nods, moving slowly towards the door and opening it to find an orderly waiting outside to escort him, looking rather surprised that the session has been so short. Heero takes a step out but stops, as if forgetting something and turns back to Michael.

"Have a good day, Doctor Allyn." With that, he turns and shuts the door behind him, leaving the psychiatrist to his dazed thoughts.

AN: Questions? Comments? Vague disregard to any or all words written and established in the mind of one who has no sanity?

Well, an interesting development ... Like I said, it may take a while for the next chapter to come out, but I have a break coming up soon, so hopefully I'll have some time to write during then, yea? Later, Gators! Catch ya on the flip side.


	5. Chapter Five

AN: Well, Kats and Kittens! I guess I decided to write more after all. I'll keep this short since I'm on a tight schedule. Thanks so much for all your reviews so far! You guys are awesome. Seriously! Enjoy the next chapter!

_  
Chapter Five_:

"Mr. Maxwell?" Michael says the name hopefully, sitting forward as the line on the other end of the telephone is answered. The pen swivelling in his fingers is dropped to his desk over Heero Yuy's file – if it can even be _called_ as such. It barely contains two pages worth of information, the only parts _not_ answered with an "N/A" being his physical description, his current place of residence, and his current place of employment – nothing about his past or his personal life, which is why the psychiatrist had asked for Duo Maxwell's work number. If he is to understand the enigma that is Heero Yuy, to form any semblance of a bond between them, he is going to have to get to know the man. Seeing as Heero is currently not cooperating with any of his approaches, he has decided to take the ever-elusive _plan B_ – contacting the spouse.

"Yes, this is Duo Maxwell," the voice on the other end of the line responds, the tone _clearly_ stating that this had better well be worth his time.

"This is Doctor Michael Allyn from the Haeman Institute," the man responds quickly, attempting to assure the other that he is _very_ much worth listening to. "I'm the psychiatrist currently treating your husband."

"Oh," the voice on the other end is soft, timid, and Michael winces at the memories that must be resurfacing for him. "Hello. What can I do for you, Doctor?"

"Please, call me Mike," the doctor insists, standing and pacing in front of his desk. Rarely does he ever become anxious when speaking with a patient's family member, but in Heero's case, he is not quite sure _what_ to expect from his significant other. "Um, I was actually hoping we could schedule an appointment to discuss Heero's file. You see, there isn't really very much to it." He chuckles nervously. "I can fully comprehend the need for classification in his line of work, but in _his_ case . . . it's as if there wasn't anything there to classify in the first place."

"Mm," Duo's voice is quiet, as if he is contemplating how much to reveal to this man. "Heero doesn't really _have_ a past, Doc- . . . Uh, _Mike_. His former . . . _occupation_ wasn't too keen on the idea of distractions. Memories included."

"I would _really_ like to hear about it, Mr. Maxwell," Michael pleads desperately, taking his seat again and leaning onto his desk. He concentrates on a single spot just beside his now cold mug of coffee, "if you're willing to tell me, of course." There is a slight hesitation, and the doctor jumps at the obvious thought the other man must be having. "It wouldn't have to be here at the institute. It can be anywhere you're most comfortable." There is another silence, in which Michael holds his breath in anticipation.

"Do you know where Trinity Park is?" Duo's question comes as a relief, and Michael must resist the urge to let loose the air in his lungs in one exaggerated huff.

"Yes, of course," he responds, perhaps a tad too energetically.

"Good." There is a minute pause, in which Michael imagines the other man is nodding. "I have a lunch break in an hour. I'll meet you by the fountain."

0 o 0 o 0

Duo Maxwell is not at all what Michael expected. His hair is long, nearly knee-length, and tied back into a tight, neat braid. The doctor cannot imagine how much care is needed for it, and, truthfully, he would rather not ponder the thought. Piercing, violet eyes, the likes of which he has never seen before, scan the large vicinity. He sits calmly, precariously, at the fountain's edge, the epitome of smoothness amidst screaming, wet children and contentedly oblivious parents. If not for his Preventers uniform, Michael might have thought him just another admirer of the tourist attraction.

"Mr. Maxwell?" He inquires, approaching the braided figure carefully, as if he is a skittish animal that will bolt at any sign of hostility. The man looks up, squinting against the sun before standing and offering his hand with an exhausted smile that doesn't even come close to reaching his eyes.

"Duo," he corrects him, and Michael shakes the offered hand firmly.

"It's a pleasure to meet you."

Duo nods, motioning to his right. "Shall we?" Michael turns to see a walking trail that bends around several towering trees, disappearing into the thicket. He nods with a smile of his own, keeping pace with the other man as they slowly head down the deserted path. The noise and chatter behind them disappear little by little as they make their way deeper into the mass of oaks. It is only when it has become nearly silent that Duo speaks again.

"You wanted to know about Heero?"

"Yes," Michael nods eagerly, turning his head to look at the man to his right. "As I said, his file is rather empty. You mentioned something about a 'former occupation'? Can we start there?"

"Truthfully, I don't know if you'd believe me," Duo smirks, shaking his head with a forced chuckle.

"It's not in my nature to discredit people, Duo," the psychiatrist assures him.

Duo gives him a wary glance. "You sure? I thought you docs were all about bringing the crazy people back to reality – getting rid of the pink elephants and whatnot."

"Funny you should mention pink elephants . . ." Michael says distractedly, remembering his conversation with Heero a few days ago.

Duo scratches the back of his head with a sheepish smile and replies, "Yea, it's sort of an on-going gag with some friends of ours."

Michael nods. "So, why don't you try me?"

The braided man sighs. "Right," he says softly, sticking his hands deep in his pockets. "You're familiar with Operation Meteor, I presume?"

"Not many people _aren't_ since it was made public knowledge after the wars," Michael points out.

Duo nods and continues, "Five pilots sent to earth to defend the colonies with custom-designed mobile suits made from a metal known as 'gundanium alloy.'"

"The gundams," Michael replies in understanding, wondering what this has to do with Heero but listening intently nonetheless.

"Five _boys_ sent to do the work of _men_," Duo scoffs absently as distant memories bombard his mind, "to fight a war they really didn't understand for a reason they could never truly comprehend . . . and no one felt sorry for them. _Ever_."

The doctor's lips purse at the information given to him. Is Duo really saying what he _thinks_ he's saying?

"It must have been very lonely for them," he consoles softly.

"It was," the braided man whispers past tightened vocal cords. "We were on our own – thrust into that big, bad universe before we could barely tie our shoelaces." A hysteric laugh – more of a stifled sob – escapes Duo's throat as he sniffles and wipes his nose with his sleeve. Here he stands, a man of twenty, and he still feels like a child.

"They had mentioned you were young," Michael says quietly, "but I had no idea . . ."

"Not many do," Duo brandishes a watery smile. "Most would rather _not_ know, happy to live in their own memories of the war – the ones where their battles didn't have to be fought by children while they hid in their homes."

"Do you believe that Heero's . . . _relapse_ is somehow connected to his involvement in the war?"

"No," the younger man is quick to answer, his eyes fiery with absolute assurance. "No way in hell. Heero was the least likely to develop any kind of psychological disorder after the war."

"You're certain?" Michael inquires skeptically. "Sometimes friends and family are the ones who don't seem to think anything is wrong."

"But they aren't just 'friends,'" Duo protests. "And I'm not just 'family.' We're soldiers. We've been trained to watch for this kind of thing – in others as well as ourselves. Besides, after the tests – the ones they made us take before we were able to join the Preventers – Heero's results showed no ill effects whatsoever. He could have been doing what we're doing now, as far as anyone was concerned." Duo indicates their surroundings, and Michael nods.

"Just a walk in the park," he murmurs. "Tell me about his life before he was a gundam pilot."

But Duo shakes his head, replying, "I'm not sure I know enough to tell. He never talked much about his life before the wars. I know he lived with a man named Odin Lowe before the scientist took him. He said he might have remembered an older brother, but . . ." He shrugs.

"Odin Lowe," Michael repeats the name to himself, as if storing it away for a later use.

"How . . ." Duo starts hesitantly, unsure of his question. "How is he doing?"

"I was able to get him to talk, finally, in our last session," the man replies with a small, reassuring smile. "And he's taken to reading. Mostly the same book over and over. He has quite the fascination for it."

"_The Metamorphosis_?" Duo guesses with a cocky grin, a bit of his past self reflected in the toothy smile. At the other man's nod he gives a slight chuckle. "It's his favorite. He says it's the one solid memory he has left of his past. He can remember someone reading it to him all the time – the person he thinks was his brother." His eyes sadden, all of a sudden, and they take on a far look. "I had a copy of it with me when I came to see him last week . . . I had left it in the car. It's funny." He gives an unenthusiastic, attempted laugh, looking to his boots. "That's all I could think about when he had me pinned against that wall. When they took me outside, I found it, and I almost ran back in."

"You aren't angry with him, then?" Michael asks, his eyebrows rising, and Duo shakes his head.

"I've seen Heero Yuy at his worst," he explains with a gentle smile, "and that was a far cry from it."

"How can you tell?" The other man asks curiously, the secret to his most interesting patient to date at his fingertips.

"His eyes," Duo replies to Michael's obvious confusion. "Watch his eyes the next time you talk with him." He laughs lightly at the doctor's bewildered look. "Mention the book. You'll see what I mean."

AN: Questions? Comments? Vague disregard to any or all words written and established in the mind of one who has no sanity?

Well, I've gotta split, Kats and Kittens. I'll have more soon, no worries, but probably not until after midterms. Dang those tests anyway! Oh, and I realized that I haven't mentioned Milliardo and Lucrezia since the first chapter, so I've written them into the next. Promise! Later, Gators! Have a good one.


	6. Chapter Six

AN: Oi. I'm so very sorry, Kats and Kittens. I've had a rough Midterm Break. Between working, hanging with my sibs, and having to take my laptop (which _crashed_, by the way) into Trisec to see if they'll fix it, I've had a purely rotten week. And I won't get my computer back for at least a couple of weeks. So, I wrote an extra-long chapter for you this time to make up for the past week. It might be a while in between chapters from now on, seeing as I'll have to commute to the library ever time I want to use a computer. Damn it . . . Anyway, please enjoy the chapter, yea?

_Chapter Six:  
_

"Yuy."

Heero cannot help but stiffen as an all-too-familiar voice grinds out his name, as if it is almost too vile to say. He does not move, however, from his position near the large, lounge area window, staring out at the rather bland view of the institute's parking lot and several buildings beyond that.

A hand settles on his shoulder, soft and feminine – this hand does not belong to the voice – and he is turned to face the kind, gentle eyes of Lucrezia Peacecraft. She has to lean down to meet his gaze full-on. Funny that even though Heero has gained a few inches over the past four years, everyone still seems taller.

She cups his cheek, searching desperately for any hint of the teenager she had seen at their wedding two years ago. "Hey, Heero. We came as soon as we heard. Are you doing all right?" Her eyes sadden as no response comes from the young man, and she sighs. She straightens and looks to her husband, who stands a few feet from them, arms crossed and eyes glaring holes into Heero's head. He takes in the other man's appearance slowly. He's obviously lost weight – "Far too much," Milliardo worries slightly – and he looks as if the only sleep he has gotten has probably been passing out from pure exhaustion. A faint trembling can be seen in his hands, a side-effect of the medication, if the blonde man remembers correctly.

The Peacecraft heir had thought long and hard about the situation all the way back to earth – nearly a week's journey – and had come to the conclusion that Heero _must_ be doing this for a reason. Of all the pilots, his mind seemed the most stable.

_But_, Milliardo thinks, _if this is a mission of some sort . . . it is very thorough._ He cannot imagine putting himself through anything such as this on purpose.

With a slight movement of his head, he indicates that he would like to have a word alone with the young man. Lucrezia nods, heading towards the front desk.

"I don't know what you're trying to pull, Yuy," he starts quietly, harshly, "but it had better damn well be important enough to put yourself and others through this kind of hell." The silence causes the older man to sigh, and the blonde moves towards him, attempting to make eye contact.

Suddenly, Heero's fingers are gripping his shirt, bunching as much as the cloth into the tight fists as he can, and Milliardo finds himself shoved into the nearest corner. He gives a grunt as the shorter man presses the entire length of his body against his own, pinning him. He can see two orderlies hurrying towards them, Lucrezia at their heels, but Heero's abrupt murmur causes him to hold up a hand, stopping their advancement.

"How is he?"

Milliardo stares hard into the icy, blue orbs trained intently on his own, replying just as quietly – so that no one can hear their conversation – "He's tired of your bullshit, if that's what you want to know." Heero's eyes soften, retaining an exhausted gaze that matches his posture. "Why are you doing this to him?"

"No 'to' him," the younger man shakes his head slightly, taking in a shuddering breath. "_For_ him."

The blonde gives him an incredulous look. "'For' him? How is _any_ of this for his benefit?" He gives the room a quick once-over, meeting Lucrezia's worried gaze for but a moment before returning to his captor.

"You won't tell him?" Heero pleads in a whisper, as if the very walls will hear his words, the trembling in his body beginning to take a toll. Milliardo can feel the other's grip waning. "Please? You won't?" The older man sighs, contemplating the timid request. It is most certainly the real Heero Yuy asking him – a side that he has never seen before, but the real Heero nonetheless. Slowly snaking his arms around the younger's waist – for both physical _and_ moral support – he nods, giving his word, and Heero relaxes, content with the answer.

He pulls himself from the man's grasp, turning and pushing his way past the bewildered orderlies with a muttered, "No need, gentlemen." And with that, he silently makes his way back to his room.

0 o 0 o 0

Michael watches from beside the front desk as Heero pushes the blonde man into a corner of the lounge area. His heart races as two, white-uniformed orderlies scurry towards them, and the breath in his lungs catches as the taller man in Heero's grasp holds up a hand, stopping them and the woman chasing afterward. The two converse for a time, their words hushed and private. He doubts that even the orderlies, standing a mere few feet from them, can hear what they are saying.

Finally, Heero releases the man, making his way across the lounge and towards the hallway – most likely to his room to, once again, read his beloved book. Fleeting blue eyes meet his for a second before the young man disappears, and it is all that Michael can do to keep himself from running after him. Besides, he would _really_ like to have a word with these strangers.

"Excuse me," he says quietly, causing the two to stop as they pass by. "I'm Doctor Allyn, Heero's psychiatrist."

"Yes," the blonde nods. "Duo mentioned you."

"I apologize if I seem like I'm prying," Michael smiles sheepishly, "but I'm wondering if you could tell me how you know Heero and Duo?"

"We're old friends," the woman replies kindly, "from the war. I'm Lucrezia Peacecraft, and this is my husband, Milliardo." Michael's eyebrows shoot up.

"Oh," he manages, his brain unable to function at the revelation to having someone as famous as the Peacecraft heir _himself_ in the rather small institute. "It's a pleasure to meet you." Milliardo nods, a solemn look gracing his countenance.

"He's been giving you trouble, no doubt," he says matter-of-factly, and Michael gives a tired chuckle.

"He's proving to be a most _taxing_ patient," he smiles despite his words, "but nothing I can't handle. I enjoy a challenge every now and again."

"Well, you certainly have your hands full with _that_ one," Lucrezia grins wryly, "but don't let him discourage you. He's really a sweet boy." Funny how she still thinks of him as a boy, being only four years older than him herself. She places a hand on the man's shoulder, her eyes pleading him silently. "Don't give up on him."

Michael gives a nod of assurance, saying, "I don't intend to."

0 o 0 o 0

"Thank you, Gregory, I'll take it from here." Michael excuses the orderly standing suffocatingly close to Heero, who leans, unbothered, over a bathroom sink. Half of his face is covered with shaving cream, a razor held unsteadily in his right hand and the blade gliding shakily over his jugular. He offers only a small glance through the mirror as the orderly leaves before returning to his task.

"Good morning, Doctor," he greets softly.

"Good morning, Heero," Michael smiles in return, leaning against the wall beside the sink, rather than crowding him. "You seem to be doing well today."

"It's only nine a.m.," Heero points out, wincing as the blade nicks him just above his adam's apple. "I wouldn't make such a positive assumption so early in the morning." Michael steps forward, gently removing the razor from the man's trembling fingers and turning him so that they are face to face.

"I like to be optimistic." The psychiatrist smiles, motioning for Heero to raise his chin. The younger man complies without protest. "How are you liking the book?"

"It's fine."

"Just 'fine'?" Michael inquires skeptically, rinsing the blade and carefully sliding it up along the curve of the soft, pale neck. His skin is still smooth – that of a teenager's. It hasn't roughened or weathered with age, and Michael marvels at it. "It must be more than that if you've read it so many times."

"It's an interesting read," Heero replies monotonously, lowering his chin and turning his head so that the doctor can start on the other half of his face.

"Mm," Michael agrees with a nod, furrowing his brow. "It's been a while since I've read it. It's the one about the man who turns into a bug, right?"

"I thought our session wasn't until later this week." The obvious attempt at evading the subject causes the older man to smile as he rinses the blade again.

"Ah," he says quietly, "then I suppose that means we'll be waiting a few days to discuss the conversation I had with your husband as well."

Heero, suddenly, grasps the man's wrist with an alarming strength, stopping the advancement of the razor so that he can turn to face the doctor.

"You've spoken with Duo?" He demands accusingly, his eyes sharp, penetrating. Michael wonders if the Preventers have ever used him as an interrogator – if not, then they should.

"Yes," he nods, studying the man closely. "We spoke yesterday. Does that bother you?" Heero's jaw tightens as he considers the question.

"Only if he mentioned something that you have no business knowing," he finally responds. "What did he tell you?"

"Not much," Michael attempts a careless shrug, hoping that his eyes do not betray him. "We talked about your time here, mostly," he glances anxiously at the fingers clenched around his wrist, "and how long you might be here."

Heero leans in closely, narrowing his eyes and shifting his gaze between the nervous, green orbs. "You're lying . . . or you're not telling the whole truth."

The doctor's eyebrow quirks as he says, "So I should grant you a courtesy that you don't allow _me_?" The younger man remains in his position a moment more before slowly backing away and releasing the other's wrist.

"Very well," he murmurs in annoyance, allowing Michael to continue his task. Heero is relatively quiet the rest of the day.

0 o 0 o 0

Michael taps his fingers on his desk, looking to the clock on the wall for maybe the fifth time in the last fifteen minutes.

"Nine thirteen," he mutters with a sigh. Heero is late. He's _never_ late. Granted, they've barely had a full session since his arrival, but he hasn't been tardy to any of them, at least not until now.

Five more minutes pass slowly – almost agonizingly so – before he decides to seek out his patient himself.

Roaming down the hallway, he is soon aware of a large commotion towards the end of the men's ward – towards Heero's room. He increases his pace to a jog, pushing his way past chattering patients and screeching nurses to the group of arguing orderlies huddled just outside the small bedroom.

"What's going on?" He demands, causing the group to cease their banter and turn to him.

"It's Benjamin, Doctor," one of them replies with annoyance. "He . . . The nurse only stepped away from the desk for a moment-"

"Long enough for him to grab a pair of scissors," another interrupts worriedly.

"_What_?!" Michael exclaims, heading towards the door only to be stopped by several pairs of hands.

"No! Doctor, you mustn't," the worried orderly pleads. "He says if anyone goes in, he'll-"

"_I'll slit his fucking throat! I will!_" A voice wails from within the room.

"Who . . ." The psychiatrist starts, turning back around and searching the crowd desperately.

"It's Mr. Yuy," an orderly explains quietly. "I'm sorry, Doctor. We just . . . We just didn't see it coming. Benjy's known for his outbursts, but he's never gone this far before."

"How long has he been in there?"

"Nearly twenty minutes. We would have sent someone to get you-"

"You _should_ have," Michael scolds.

"-but we were busy with keeping the patients under control, and each of us has tried to coax him out . . . Nothing's worked."

Michael spins back around again, placing his hands on either side of the doorframe and leaning in towards the wood, his face nearly touching it.

"Benjamin," he calls quietly, and the crowd behind him falls into a hush. He turns back to the orderlies and hisses, "Can you get these people _out_ of here, please?" They immediately set to work dispersing the crowd and leading them back to their rooms, moans and grumbles following.

"What? Is he dead already?"

"But we didn't even get to see any blood."

"Blood? I thought this was the line for ice cream . . ."

"When's Benjy coming back? He promised we'd play checkers – not with the rebel ones, though. He says the pieces are transmitters."

"Benjy's nuts. He's not coming back."

"You shut up! Benjy knows _exactly_ what he's talking about!"

Michael tunes out the rest of the conversations, focusing, once again, on the door.

"Benjamin," he tries again, straining to hear any words whatsoever. "It's Doctor Allyn. Can I come in, please?"

"No!" Comes the avid reply. "D-Don't even think about it! I'll do it! I'll kill him!"

"Don't do anything you'll regret, now, Benjamin," Michael says desperately. "Just think about what you're doing. Does Heero really deserve this? He's your friend, isn't he?"

"Ha!" Benjamin gives a hysteric laugh. "I could never be friends with a traitor!" The sound of spitting filters through the door. "He deserves it, the coward!"

"Benjamin, listen to me," the doctor demands calmly. "You don't want to hurt Heero. He's not the enemy. You're confused." He pauses for a moment, expecting a rebuttal but receiving none. "You _know_ this is wrong, Benjamin. You _know_ Heero is a good person, and we all know that you don't hurt nice people."

"I only hurt rebels." Benjamin's answer is soft and barely makes it through the door to the man's ears.

"That's right," Michael nods, "and there aren't any rebels in this hospital. We're all your friends, here, Benjamin. _Heero_ is your friend. Right?" There is a moment of hesitation in which the doctor holds his breath until, suddenly, the sound of the doorknob twisting is heard. Michael steps back as the door opens, revealing Benjamin's pale, sweaty face. His eyes shift back and forth warily, making sure there is no sign of an ambush, before settling on the doctor.

"Benjamin," Michael says in greeting, his tone soft. "Can I have the scissors you took from the desk, please?" The other man nods slowly, opening the door a little wider. The psychiatrist gives a startled gasp as the object being offered to him clatters to the ground at his feet, glinting in the poor lighting – but it is not a metallic glint. The scissors are coated in crimson up to the handle, the thick liquid slowly dripping onto the floor in spatters.

"I told you I'd do it," Benjamin whispers, a crazed sheen to his eyes. "No one believed me, but-" Michael hears no more, bursting into the room past the bewildered man and searching frantically, finding no one else.

"Where-" His gaze settles on a dark pool of liquid in the center of the room, small red rivers flowing towards it from beneath Heero's bed. He dives to the wooden boards, ignoring the blood that coats his clothing. He finds Heero lying lifelessly within the shadows, faint and shallow breathing moving his chest up and down slightly – the _only_ movement that the doctor can see. Carefully, he pulls the younger man out from underneath the bed, sitting up and cradling Heero's head in his lap.

"Medic!" He yells, turning to the door, where Benjamin still stands, his hand clutching the knob tightly. "I need a medic in here _stat_!" The shuffling and scurrying of feet can be heard from the hall. Satisfied that help is on the way, Michael then turns back to the man lying limply in his arms. Blood coats his neck and most of his torso, but the psychiatrist soon finds, to his great relief, that there is no sign of a wound on his jugular.

Continuing his search, he discovers a deep gash near the left side of his collar bone. Michael winces, immediately placing pressure on the profusely-bleeding area and looking up, once again, as several of the medical staff enters the small room.

AN: Questions? Comments? Vague disregard to any or all words written and established in the mind of one who has no sanity?

Ha. I'm evil because I love cliffhangers. Well, I'm thinking I should have this story finished within the next few chapters, which is a first for me, considering I hardly ever finish stories if they aren't one-shots. So, yay me! I'll have the next chapter up as soon as humanly possible (within the week, hopefully). Again, sorry for the delay. Bad timing and whatnot. You understand . . . Don't you?


	7. Chapter Seven

AN: Well, Kats and Kittens, another chapter has arrived. Again, I'm sorry for the delay. My computer is still not in my possession, but will be (hopefully) soon -- by mid-April at the latest. Oi. I'm dying without it. I can't stand not having internet access at my fingertips every second of every day. Anyway, no more whining. Enjoy!_  
_

_Chapter Seven: _

//One Week Later//

Michael finds himself twiddling a pen between his fingers and, once again, glancing towards the clock above the door from his desk. Only a week ago he had been sitting in this very spot wondering why Heero was late for their appointment. Now, he can only stare at the young man sitting silently in the chair opposite of him -- holding his left arm to his side, as he had rather blatantly refused the use of a sling -- and wonder how many times he had read _The Metamorphosis_ while in the infirmary.

"One-hundred-and-thirty-seven," Heero says softly, his gaze never lifting from his flaccid fingers lying in his lap. Michael's eyebrows arc, and he opens his mouth to question the younger man but is cut off. "You were thinking it, weren't you?"

"Yes," the doctor admits after a moment, remembering who he is dealing with, "and if I remember correctly, we were going to discuss it today."

Heero looks up, suddenly, pinning Michael with a gaze that he has never seen before and asking, "Why are you so eager to have me talk about this book?" The other man says nothing, unable to decide whether to tell him the truth or -- "Did Duo tell you to mention it?" Well, that settles that.

"Yes," Michael replies quietly. "He said it's your favorite book . . . That it's the only thing you can recall about your past." Heero is quiet for a moment as he absently fingers the bandage encasing his left arm. He looks . . . lost.

"We don't have to talk about it if you don't want to," the psychiatrist says assuringly, receiving a scoff in return.

"And what do you suggest we _do_ talk about, Doctor?"

"How about pink elephants?"

The question takes Heero aback, and he stops his fidgeting, staring at the other man with wide, unseeing eyes. Suddenly, he smiles -- a true smile; the first that Michael has ever seen. Since his arrival, Heero has shown little to no emotion. Even that which he allows is forced and fake. But this grin -- this simple act of twitching the corners of his mouth upward -- transforms him completely, and the doctor can see why Duo was so drawn to him in the first place.

"Duo told you to mention _that_ as well, I'm sure." Heero's words pull Michael from his thoughts, and he slowly shakes his head.

"No. He brought it up, but-"

"I'd really rather not talk about that either."

"Well, what _would_ you like to talk about?"

"When I'll be leaving."

Michael's eyebrows furrow as he replies, "I'm sorry, Heero, but at the rate we're going it may be a few more weeks. Perhaps even a month or two. Patients rarely leave within three weeks of being admitted."

"Don't worry yourself, Doctor Allyn. I'll be leaving sooner than you think." Heero's gaze returns to the bandage on his forearm, and he continues to fiddle with the frayed edges.

Michael sits forward, studying the younger man curiously before saying softly, "Is . . . something going to happen?"

"Well," Heero shrugs with a sigh, looking up with tired eyes. There is no hint of the smiling man that Michael had seen only moments before. "We'll see, won't we?"

"Heero," the doctor says sternly, his gaze scolding, "what you've said is very serious. I'm obligated to report you if I think you might try to harm yourself. You'll have to be put on suicide watch."

"As if I'm not already." The younger man rolls his eyes, looking to the clock. Michael follows his gaze, watching as the second hand slowly rounds over the six and starts its ascent. "I suppose I should say my goodbyes now. I won't be seeing you before I go."

The doctor turns back to Heero with a confused, worried look, but he has no more time to think about it as the second hand on the clock finally reaches the very top and the clock strikes 9:30am.

A large rumbling is heard from outside, and the whole building shakes almost violently, books falling from the shelf across the room and a few things tumbling from the doctor's desk. Michael stands abruptly, looking around wildly before noticing the rather large cloud of smoke billowing from a neighboring building out his window.

"Oh my . . ." He clasps a hand over his mouth and stares as several more explosions occur on opposite ends of the complex, and he remains hypnotized by the fire and rubble springing into the air for quite sometime until he remembers the man sitting only a few feet from him. Turning, he jumps back in surprise, finding Heero standing at his right shoulder.

"Quite a show, isn't it?" He murmurs, his eyes glazed over as he stares out at the spectacle with what Michael thinks is satisfaction. Before the doctor can say anything, however, several people rush into the room.

"Doctor!" A rather flustered orderly breathes heavily, his eyes wide and panicked. "There's been an-"

"Thank you, gentlemen," Heero cuts the man off, "but I think it's somewhat obvious what's happened." He then turns to the psychiatrist, holding out a flimsy paperback. "I believe this is yours."

Michael grasps the book with trembling fingers, still unable to form any words as the orderlies hurriedly rush the younger man off to his room and ask the doctor what he thinks could have happened and what they should do.

"Should we evacuate?"

"Should we move the patients to the secure hold in the basement?"

"How many people were in that building, do you think?"

"Who would do such a thing?"

"Doctor?"

"Doctor."

"_Doctor_!"

Michael shakes his head of thought, turning to the expectant stares of the group beside his desk. He doesn't recall sitting down but assumes he must have, as he finds himself hunched in his desk chair, clutching to the book in his hands as if for dear life.

"No," he says softly, "no, we won't be evacuating unless told to do so by the authorities. The building's far enough away that we aren't in any imminent danger. For now, we'll confine the patients to their rooms. Keep them quiet, don't answer any questions about the explosion. Just explain that there's been an accident and that we're on lockdown until it's resolved."

The orderlies nod, glancing at him skeptically once more before leaving to do as they are told.

0 o 0 o 0

"Mr. Yuy, you have a visitor."

Heero does not turn from his bedroom window, his arms resting comfortably on the sill and his forehead pressed against the cool glass. He hears the _click-clack_ of the nurse's shoes as she scurries off down the hall and the hesitant steps of heavy boots against the wooden floor as the figure approaches him.

"Heero?" Duo's voice falters, and it pains the other man to know that he is the cause of it. "Heero, I-I'm here to take you home." Heero turns, suddenly, a look of surprise on his face.

"_You_?" He asks quietly. He assumed Une would send someone to retrieve him but had not expected her to have _Duo_ carry out the task. He hadn't wanted him to find out this way.

"Yea," the braided man crosses his arms defensively, quirking his eyebrow. "_Me_. There a problem with that?" He squares his shoulders, challenging -- nay, _daring_ -- his husband to start something after the hell he's been put through.

Heero's form slumps in defeat as he shakes his head, giving a tired, "No. I'm glad you came."

"So it's true, then," Duo nearly spits, taking a few steps forward. "This has all been some stupid mission." Heero says nothing in return, and Duo's tone saddens. "Tell me it isn't true." As much as he wants his husband to be okay, to be able to come home with him and let things be the way they were . . . he wouldn't be able to stand it if this has all been fake -- that the pain and torture that both men have endured has all been for nothing.

_// "General Une, I'll be taking that vacation time you promised fairly soon." Heero stands erectly in the woman's office, his hands clasped tightly behind his back as he stares at a single point just over her left shoulder. _

_"How long would you like, Yuy?" Une asks, her gaze never shifting from the papers on her desk. The man has had this time coming for a while. He has never asked for any time off, and only recently had she approached him and offered him a vacation. _

_"A month."_

_"What?" The general finally breaks away from her work, looking to the young man with annoyed surprise. "We can't afford to give you leave for that long. We need our best operatives searching for that base."_

_"General," Heero replies calmly, "if you give me the time I want, I'll take care of the base."_

_"You've located it?"_

_"I believe so, yes." Heero nods. _

_"Yuy, we don't have time for 'beliefs'!" Une nearly screeches in exasperation. "Do you or do you not know where the base is?"_

_"Will you or will you not give me the time I need?"_

_Une sighs, rubbing the bridge of her nose. Sometimes he can be quite taxing. Anyone else would have lost their job by now, but Heero Yuy is an extraordinary case. He follows his own rules, but he gets the job done efficiently, and most of the time, that is all that the woman can ask for. _

_"Fine. One month. But I had better get a _full_ report when this is over."_

_"Ma'am." Heero's heels click together sharply as he salutes, doing an about face and leaving the general with a twisting feeling in her stomach.//_

"I couldn't tell you," Heero states bluntly. "This was something I had to do on my own."

"Since when?" The braided man demands angrily, taking the last few steps between them and pinning Heero to the wall. "Since when do you take solo missions? And without _telling_ anybody? Without telling _me_?" Heero tries to look away, but Duo grabs his chin and forces their eyes to meet. "Why a patient, huh? Why not an orderly? Why not the medical unit? Why not a psychiatrist, for Christ's sake? _Why_?" He pounds on his husband's chest weakly as tears flood his eyes, causing his vision to blur. He steps away from Heero, slumping onto the bed and burying his face in his hands.

"The base, Duo," Heero says quietly. "This facility is one of the closest to the base. I had to be near it."

"Bullshit!" The violet-eyed man shouts, looking up at the other as his anger returns. "There were plenty of other facilities around that place. Why _here_?"

"Because if something were to go wrong, if there were any survivors who went snooping around all the surrounding buildings, who do you think they would be looking for? If they searched _this_ building, who would they be looking for? _New staff_. They wouldn't think twice about a new patient, some lunatic who doesn't know a crack in the ceiling from a rabbit." Heero attempts to stay calm, but by the end of his tirade, he is pacing back and forth and running his fingers through his thicket of hair repeatedly.

"But _why_ wouldn't you let me know? Why wouldn't you let me help?" Duo's words are barely understandable through his sobbing as he stands and places his hands on either side of Heero's face, stopping his incessant motion. Heero grasps his husband's wrists tightly, as if they are the only thing keeping him from crumpling to the ground, and leans forward so that their foreheads are touching.

"I couldn't bear it, Duo," he whispers sadly, tears falling from beneath his closed eyelids. "I couldn't stand to have you see me do that to myself on purpose. Hurting you would be a thousand times worse than anything I could ever do to myself." Duo shakes his head, his own tears curving around his cheeks and joining beneath his chin.

"Never again, Heero," he chokes on the words. "Don't you _ever_ do this again."

"Never," Heero promises, sniffling as his hands make his way to the back of Duo's head. His fingers string through the chestnut locks as he pulls him into a deep kiss, the first they have shared in weeks, and both lose themselves until someone clears their throat. They break apart quickly, finding Milliardo leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed and cheeks reddening slightly.

"My apologies for interrupting," he says softly, "but we're wondering when you two are going to make your grand exit."

"'We'?" Heero inquires, one eyebrow raised, and Duo smiles sheepishly.

"Well, the others didn't want to be left out of the undeniable _ass chewing_ you were going to get after Une briefed us on the situation," he explains, and the other winces, but Duo cups his face reassuringly. "Don't worry, Baby. I'll protect you from the big, bad gundam pilots." Heero chuckles softly, wrapping his arms around his husband's waist with as much strength as his malnourished body will allow.

"Let's go home."

0 o 0 o 0

"Nurse, can I have Heero Yuy's medical record, please?" Michael leans against the front desk absently, signing off on a few charts before turning to the young woman's confused and bewildered face.

"I'm sorry, Doctor Allyn, Mr. Yuy's documents were taken with him when he was released," she replies quietly.

"_What_?!" The psychiatrist drops the clipboards in his hands, and they clatter to the floor, his fingers gripping the counter. "Released when?"

"Early this week. I thought someone contacted you . . . He was taken into the care of the Preventer Headquarters medical facility."

"I didn't authorize this," Michael protests angrily, his tone nearly growling.

"I'm sorry, Doctor," the nurse apologizes timidly. "They had a court order . . . signed by the Vice Foreign Minister _herself_."

"Shit," the man mutters, rubbing a hand over his face. "Where is this facility?"

AN: Questions? Comments? Vague disregard for any or all words written and established in the mind of one who has no sanity?

Well, there's one more chapter after this. I hope this one answered a _few_ questions. There will definitely be more answers in the next chapter, so no worries. Thanks so much to all of my reviewers. You guys are amazing, really! Thank you very much for sticking with me this far. Lots of Luv!


	8. Chapter EightEpilogue

AN: Wow, Kats and Kittens. The very last chapter. I think this may be the . . . second or third chapter story I've ever actually finished. Haza! Anyway, thought I'd just give a brief farewell to this one before I let you all go at it . . . GOODBYE, MY LOVE! IT HAS BEEN WONDROUS TO WRITE YOU! I will never forget. /Sob/

All right, just one more thing: This was a rushed chapter, seeing as I was trying my best to finish this one while my brain was stuck in other fandoms (Scrubs!). So, if there are any mistakes, please please please forgive them. They are, obviously, unintentional, and clearly only there because I was so desperate to get this chapter up that I didn't have time to read through it more than twice.

Okay. Enough said. Read on, Readers! Read on! And enjoy!

_Chapter Eight:_

"General Une, I presume?" Michael asks rather hotly as he enters the woman's office, her protesting secretary following closely behind. The Lady senses tension leaking from every pore in this intruder's body, and, immediately, her defenses are raised. She waves off the sputtering woman behind him.

"You presume correctly," she counters, leaning back in her chair and crossing her arms. "What can I do for you?"

"You can tell me what medical unit Heero Yuy has been admitted to," the man demands furiously. He slams both palms down on the desk, narrowing his eyes.

"You must be Doctor Allyn," the general states nonchalantly, unfazed by the outburst.

"You have _no right_ to release him from my care!"

"On the contrary," Une points out sharply, standing and leaning over her desk as well, their noses barely inches apart. "Mister Yuy is an officer of the Preventer faction. He is _strictly_ under my command and, as such, is my responsibility. And I will have _no one_ undermining my authority."

Michael takes a step back, his glare decreasing in intensity. Despite her angry words, he can see the genuine concern in her eyes -- that look of caring that states her relationship with her subordinates is much more than just "commanding officer." She cannot help but feel emotionally attached to these people that she has served with -- and sometimes _against_ -- in both wars.

"General Une," Michael starts again, his tone more civil this time, "I apologize. I was . . . caught off-guard when the nurse told me he had been released. I only have his best interests at heart."

"I don't doubt that, Doctor," Une replies, also lowering her tone to a moderate level, "and what is best for Heero is that he stay _here_." Michael nods.

"Can I see him?'

"Of course," the general smiles. "His office is on the fourth floor."

"Office?" The psychiatrist's eyebrows knit together.

0 o 0 o 0

_Lt. Colonel Heero Yuy_

The gold nameplate shines brightly outside the closed door, indicating that he has recently been promoted. Michael swallows hard, unsure as to what he'll find within. Slowly, he raises a tightly clenched fist, rapping on the door with white knuckles.

"Come." The demand is curt, sharp -- exactly what would be expected of a soldier. But Michael has not seen the soldier side of Heero, and he is not sure what to expect.

He enters to find the younger man bent over several scattered papers. Heero doesn't look up right away, merely motioning whoever is in his doorway towards the chairs sitting before his desk.

Michael takes a seat, studying his former patient intently. His muscles are more pronounced, his body having filled out somewhat and losing that drawn look. A faint purple still resides beneath his eyes but not as darkly as it had been. And finally, his uniform – the pinnacle of his professionalism. It's crisp, clean, no sign of wrinkles or stains of any kind. It covers his injuries well – his forearms and his left shoulder – and if not for the light wrapping of gauze around his neck, hiding the ugly gash, he would look almost normal.

"I was wondering when you might show up," Heero murmurs, still immersed in his work.

"Quite contradictory of one of your first statements," the psychiatrist points out, and Heero nods.

"I told you once I left I wouldn't see you again," the younger man recalls thoughtfully. "I guess I was incorrect."

"Heero," Michael shifts uncomfortably, his tone on the brink of exasperation, "what are you doing here?"

Heero finally looks up, pinning the man with a stoic gaze before saying, "I work here."

"You _know_ what I mean." The psychiatrist stands abruptly, pacing before the desk.

"I think it's quite obvious," Heero replies, linking his fingers and following the doctor's motion with his eyes. "I faked a suicide attempt to infiltrate your asylum so I could blow up a building." This rather blatant admission causes Michael to stop and turn to the younger man, his knees nearly buckling.

"Th-That was you?" He collapses into the chair again, his jaw looking about to fall off its hinges.

"Come now, Doctor Allyn," Heero mock scolds the man. "I'm sure you had _some_ idea about what happened."

"Trust me, Heero," Michael gives a hysteric laugh and places a hand over his eyes, rubbing at his temples. "It's not everyday I get a patient who blows things up for a living . . . at least not illegally."

"Yes," the younger man agrees, "but then again you've never had a gundam pilot for a patient either." Michael stiffens and stares at the other man with inquiring eyes. "Duo told me about the talk you had with him . . . and I'm grateful to you." Heero looks down to his clasped hands. "There aren't many people we can talk to besides each other, and sometimes it's just not enough. We need someone who _doesn't_ quite know what we've gone through, someone who hasn't shared the same experiences." Michael nods.

"You need that feeling of sympathy," he replies.

"It sounds selfish . . ."

"It's not," Michael shakes his head, forcing an assuring smile. "It's natural for human beings to crave emotion from one another, especially if it gains them some sort of attention."

"But we aren't supposed to attract any attention. It was part of our training."

"You're still human, Heero, whether you want to believe it or not."

"We're not human," the younger man disagrees, looking to his desk. "We're not _allowed_ to be human. We're gundam pilots."

"If I remember correctly, the gundams were destroyed a few years ago."

"And?"

"Well," Michael smiles sadly at him, "I don't suspect you can be a gundam pilot without a gundam."

"It would be rather difficult," Heero smirks, his gaze resting on a small object to his right, and Michael follows his line of vision. A bemused smile spreads across his face as he finds a tiny, ceramic pink elephant sitting beside a picture of what looks to be some sort of circus scene.

In the center of the photograph Heero is piggy-backing Duo, the braided man's legs wrapped snuggly around his husband's hips and arms encircling the man's shoulders while Heero's arms stretch behind him, holding Duo in place. Both are caught mid-laugh, their expressions genuine and their eyes shining.

"We have a friend who works for a traveling circus," Heero explains, a smile spreading his lips slightly. "They white-wash their elephants before every show to make them more appealing to the crowd. It was during one show when they were in town and Duo and I went to see it -- Duo noticed that in the poor lighting of the tent, they looked _pink_ instead of white. He almost fell out of the bleachers because he was laughing so hard. It was the first time I'd ever seen him _that_ carefree." Heero chuckles sadly, sighing. "During the war, he always tried to play the part of a humorist. He was the one who made the jokes and played pranks. Despite the fact that it annoyed the hell out of everyone, I don't think we would have made it out with our sanities intact without him -- even if it was all for show."

"Pink elephants," Michael murmurs thoughtfully, shifting his gaze back to the younger man and offering a fleeting smile.

"You're still uncomfortable," Heero points out, studying the man curiously.

"You blew up a building, Heero," the doctor says matter-of-factly through tightened vocal cords. "I don't see how I can be _comfortable_ while sitting here and having a chat with a terrorist." Michael takes a deep breath and releases it slowly, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I-I mean, of course it's part of your job description . . . but _Jesus_, Heero, all the people that must have been in that building . . ."

"Actually," the younger man sits back in his chair with a thoughtful gaze, "with the exception of a few operatives, the building was empty." The psychiatrist looks up at this. "And, if you cared to notice, not _all_ parts of the complex were destroyed, so besides a few scrapes and bruises, I'm fairly certain that everyone was extracted intact."

"But . . . Why-" Michael stammers with a bewildered look.

"Why blow up a building?" Heero finishes for him, and the doctor can do no more than nod. "You've no doubt been following the story about the terrorist group that has been bombing Preventer buildings in the colonies and on earth?"

"Of course," Michael nods again. "It's on the news almost every night."

"But what they aren't telling you is that they're also kidnapping Preventer soldiers and executing them." The younger man's hands clench into tight fists, and his eyes take on a dangerous sheen. "They're executing _us_."

"But _why_?" The psychiatrist asks after a moment. "What do they have against you?"

"They want to get to the gundam pilots." Heero stands, suddenly, pacing behind his desk and wondering if he should be telling the other man such confidential information. "They're a branch from what used to be the White Fang foundation."

"White Fang?" Michael repeats incredulously. "But that was _ages _ago . . . During the _first_ war."

"Anger can last quite a while, Doctor Allyn," Heero replies, sighing as he collapses back into his chair. Exhaustion is apparent on his face, and the psychiatrist wonders if he has had any time to truly recuperate from this last mission. "Around a month ago, I was able to locate their base of operations -- the building closest to the asylum. I hacked into their system in an attempt to find their next target." Heero stops here, and Michael shifts uncomfortably.

"I assume you found who it was," he states quietly, and the younger man nods.

"It was Duo. They were planning on taking him to get to the rest of us."

"But they didn't know that you and Duo were involved," Michael guesses.

"No," the younger man confirms. "They had recently discovered Duo was a gundam pilot, but only because he had put his information into the system to lure them to us." His fists tighten even further, his fingernails digging into the palms of his hands. "I wanted it to be _me_, but Une and the others agreed that they wouldn't come after a high-profile soldier such as myself . . . at least not at first."

"You must be very good if they consider you an asset," the doctor comments.

"I would sooner die than see anyone here put their life in danger for me," Heero replies strictly, his eyes hardening.

"Is that why you nearly took your own life? For the sake of completing a mission?" Michael's words remind Heero of the fight that he and Duo had at the asylum – not to mention the barrage from his comrades.

_//Heero takes a deep breath as he exits the institution, savoring the feeling as his chest releases its tightness and his mind clears of any obligation that it once had. Duo walks alongside him to his left, Milliardo on his right, and he stares ahead, where a van sits awaiting their arrival. Three figures – recognizable as Wufei, Quatre, and Trowa – stand stiffly beside the vehicle, watching them carefully. Heero, suddenly, finds himself averting his gaze, aware that, for once, he actually cares about what he might find in his friends' – possibly _ex_-friends' – eyes. _

_Duo clears his throat as an awkward silence falls around them when they finally reach the van, saying, "Well, let's load up. Heero's due for a debriefing in a couple of hours, and I have to get him home so he can clean up." No words are spoken as they enter the van and start on their way, and for the first ten minutes, there is absolute silence between them. _

_Finally, Wufei turns around in the passenger seat, Milliardo at the wheel, to stare at the four in the back, saying, "So are we going to talk about this or not?"_

_Everyone turns to Heero, who stares languidly out the window at the passing scenery for a while longer before replying, "Preferably not." With a growl, the Chinese man unhooks his seatbelt and moves back into the first seat, roughly sitting himself between Trowa and Quatre and facing the last seat, where Duo and Heero sit. With annoyance, he notices that while the two are sitting on opposite sides of the joined seat, their hands lay twined together between them. _

"_Let me rephrase that," he says through clenched teeth. "We're discussing this."_

"_What do you want to know?" Heero, finally, turns to the other man, his eyes piercing him with an all-too-familiar gaze. "That I did this to myself on purpose?" He releases Duo's hand, pulling back his sleeve and revealing the myriad of red scars running up and down his forearm. The skin around the ugly marks is still pink and puffy, indicating that infection had set in initially and had hurt like a bitch. "You want me to admit that I intentionally let my husband believe that I wanted to harm him? That I hated him? That this was all for some goddamned mission?" _

"_Heero, you don't—" Duo begins quietly, glaring daggers at the Chinese man. _

"_Was it?" Wufei demands, ignoring the look and leaning closer to Heero in an intimidating manner. Heero studies him carefully for a moment, his eyes shifting between the deep obsidian orbs trained on him, before a look of understanding dawns on his face. _

"_You want to know if it was real," he says quietly, "if I really broke." An awkward silence coats the van until Wufei gives an impatient grunt, prompting him to continue. Heero looks away, his gaze shifting back to the window. "It was a possibility . . . and it was a risk I was willing to take." _

"_Despite the fact that you could have compromised not only yourself but our pursuance of the terrorists," Wufei scolds, "that doesn't answer the question."_

_Heero sighs, looking from Wufei to Trowa to Quatre and, finally, to Milliardo, who catches his eye briefly in the rearview mirror. _

"_Yes," he replies softly. "There were times when I believed I belonged in that place . . . when I depended on it. There were times when I stared at my scars for hours and wanted nothing more than to feel them break open again." Duo cringes at this revelation, looking to his tightly-wringing hands in his lap. "And there were times when ending it all would have seemed the easiest route to take . . . but I couldn't. Not with the task at hand."_

"_C-Could . . ." Duo closes his eyes, taking deep breaths as his face pales and turns a sickly shade of green. "Could someone tell Mill to pull over?" His voice is weak, almost a whisper, but Quatre hears his request – feels his unease – and immediately turns to Milliardo. The van veers to the side of the road, and Duo is at the door, jumping out of the vehicle before it comes to a complete stop. _

"_Now look what you've done," Wufei growls at Heero as he follows Duo. _

"_What _I've_ done?" Heero grinds out indignantly, barely a step behind the Chinese man. . _

"_Shut up!" Duo yells, spinning on his heels and giving the two a warning glare. "Just shut the fuck up already! I'm sick and tired of it! I don't want to hear about it anymore! What the hell is wrong with you two?" He turns on Wufei. "Heero just got out of a God damn _asylum_, where he's spent a month doing what we haven't been able to accomplish in _years_!" Next he whips around to his husband. "And you! You think it's acceptable to disappear for a month and not expect to shell out some answers to your friends when you come back! Your _friends_, Heero! The ones who have been worried sick about you! The ones that are the closest thing to family that you and I have! Why do you want to ruin that for us? For yourself? For _me_?" _

_Heero's mouth opens and closes a few times, and he finds himself rendered speechless, something that only the braided man has ever been able to accomplish. Wufei's jaw clenches tightly as he crosses his arms, looking out at the scenery they have stopped near. Quatre, Trowa, and Milliardo stand back towards the hood of the van, watching the three like an avid audience at their favorite play. _

"_Heero . . ." Duo sighs, taking a deep breath and brushing his messy bangs aside, only to have them fall back into place. "I . . . I saw your psych records . . . Your _real_ ones." Heero stiffens, taking a step back as he brings his arms up around his torso in a self hug. This catches Wufei's attention, and he turns a curious eye on Duo before shifting his gaze to the man beside him. _

"'_Real ones?'" The Chinese man questions softly. _

"_That was not your business to look into," Heero states sourly, but there is no hint of anger on his face – only anxiety. _

"_I'm your husband," Duo forces a smile and an awkward chuckle. "I think I have a right to know if you're sick, Heero." _

"_I'm not sick," the other man replies quickly, taking another step back and averting his gaze. _

"_Then you don't need these." The braided man pulls a small pill bottle from his pocket, jiggling it slightly so that the pills within make a clacking noise against the plastic. Heero does not look up, his eyes closing and his face screwing up into a look that could be considered pain, shame . . . humility. _

"_No." He chokes on the word and swallows audibly, shaking his lowered head from side to side. His hands begin to tremble, and Wufei turns fully in his direction. _

"_Heero?" He asks warily. Heero's chest begins to shudder as his breathing becomes labored, a sheen of sweat lacing his brow and goose bumps rising on his arms._

"_I'm not sick," he says determinedly, raising a challenging look to Duo and the pills in his hand. "I don't need it. I haven't for a month. The doctor didn't notice it, so it isn't a problem." _

"_You've been so doped up on sedatives, it would have been a miracle if he _had_ been able to notice it. And by the looks of it, they're wearing off pretty quickly," Duo counters, taking the few steps towards the man and wrapping his arms around his husband's shoulders. Their foreheads press against one another, and Duo closes his eyes with a sigh. "Anxiety attacks are nothing to take lightly, Heero . . . But they aren't the worst thing in the world."_

"_I don't want to go back there." _

_The words startle Duo, and he opens his eyes again, pulling from the man slightly to look deeply into his frightened blue orbs. _

"_You won't. You aren't," he reassures him, his fingers fisting the fabric of the back of Heero's shirt. "Now . . . please take a couple of these so you don't hyperventilate in the van." He gives his husband a wry smile, holding the bottle between them. Heero gives it a wary glance before reluctantly taking it and popping off the lid. He tosses back two white pills, swallowing them dry, and grimaces. _

"_Can we go now?" He asks softly, staring into gentle violet eyes and offering a meager smile. Duo nods, and the group piles back into the van. The rest of the trip to the apartment is slow and quiet, Heero dozing soundly in Duo's arms.//_

"How did you do it?" Michael's words pull Heero from his thoughts, and he looks to the doctor with raised eyebrows, clearly stating that he had not heard the question.

"The building . . . How did you do it? _When_ did you do it?"

Heero can't help the smirk that forms on his lips. He had been wondering when it might come up and would have been disappointed if Michael's curiosity hadn't gotten the better of him.

"I must admit that I had a little help," Heero replies with a chuckle.

"One of your friends?" Michael inquires blandly, thinking it is the answer, but Heero's next words cause him to sit up in his chair and stare at him slack-jawed.

"Actually, it was Benjamin."

"What?" The doctor manages past the lump in his throat. "_Benjy_? That's impossible! When could you and he have–" He stops abruptly as the thought comes to mind. "The day he slit your throat . . ."

"Supposedly," Heero smiles wanly. "He kept you all fairly busy while I snuck out to the other building."

"But it was barely thirty minutes! You couldn't have done all that in . . ." Michael trails off as the younger man raises an eyebrow.

"I'm not a Lieutenant Colonel for nothing, Doctor," he says airily. "And besides, we needed time to prep for the . . . 'grand finale' of sorts."

"You . . . You _let_ him slit your throat?" The psychiatrist asks incredulously, his body feeling boneless and heavy. He slumps further into the seat.

"No," Heero shakes his head, looking to his hands, which are currently twirling a pen between his fingers. "No, Benjamin would do a lot for me . . . but he refused to do that. He said he would take the fall, but the actual _act_ . . . He just couldn't do it." He sighs at the other man's flabbergasted look. "Benjamin is a paranoid schizophrenic with bipolar tendencies, as you well know . . . but he's not crazy, Doctor Allyn. He's just . . . misguided. The medication your facility is administering is not helping him."

"I'm aware of that," Michael answers dazedly, his eyes wandering lazily over the walls of the room. "You . . . You slit your own throat." Heero nods. "You risked your own life for the sake of blowing up a building." Heero nods again. "You put an innocent man in solitary for, perhaps, the rest of his life." Heero's eyes close, and he grinds his teeth together. "And you can sit here and just . . ." He cannot finish his sentence. He truthfully has no idea what to say, but he knows that even if he had, it would not have been as profound as he wanted it to be anyway. "I have to go." He stands slowly, using the chair's arm rests to their full extent as leverage to help him to his feet. "I have to put in the papers to get Benjamin out of solitary." He walks to the door, placing a hand on the knob but remaining still as Heero calls his name.

"Michael . . ." It is hesitant, and justly so, seeing as it's the first time that he has used his first name. "I . . . I can't tell you how sorry I am . . . The way this all turned out . . . No one was supposed to get hurt."

"Well, Heero, people got hurt," Michael points out quietly, not bothering to turn around. "And while some may be able to forgive and forget . . . there are others that just won't let what you did slip by unnoticed." He turns the knob but is, again, stopped by Heero's voice.

"Wait," the young man calls, the sound of a desk drawer opening and the shuffling of various items following his words. "I have something for you." Michael sighs and turns as Heero stands and walks around his desk, stopping in front of him. He looks down at the thing clutched tightly in his right hand, holding it out for the psychiatrist to take. Michael stares at it for a moment before reaching out and grasping it.

"What is it?" He asks, his brows furrowing.

"It's a candle," Heero explains, shoving his hands deep into his pockets. "It was a gift from General Une, a joke of sorts, but I've decided I don't need it as much as you do."

Michael flips the object around, studying the elaborate picture engraved into the side.

"It's the Archangel Rafael," Heero says conversationally with a shrug of his shoulders, "patron saint of doctors, lovers, and insanity."

The other man gives a wistful smirk, saying, "Quite the list, there. Don't suppose it matters that I'm not Catholic?" Heero shrugs again.

"Neither am I."

Michael breathes a heavy sigh, closing his eyes for a moment before training them on Heero's guilt-ridden face. He opens the satchel at his side, placing the candle gently within and pulling out a manila folder.

"Since we're exchanging gifts," he says quietly. He holds the folder out to the young man, but before Heero can take it, he flicks his wrist upward, moving the folder from Heero's reach. "I wasn't going to give this to you, you know. I didn't think you deserved it. Not after what you'd done."

The Preventer agent swallows audibly but holds Michael's gaze steadily until the doctor lowers the folder into his awaiting hand. Heero looks down, giving the folder a confused look.

"What—"

"The technicians found an unauthorized blood work diagnostic run on the computers," Michael explains. "It was dated right about the time you were in the infirmary, after your little _accident_ with Benjy."

"And?" Heero dons an exhausted look. "You must know it was me. Come to reprimand me for it?"

"The blood work," the doctor continues, "was, apparently, compared to everyone's in the database, which is usually only done when trying to find blood donor matches or relatives." Michael studies Heero carefully as the young man stiffens. "Who were you looking for, Heero?"

"It doesn't matter." Heero's tight-lipped answer gives Michael all he needs to know. "Whoever it was wasn't there."

"Or wasn't in the database," Michael points out, and a silence falls between them as Heero tries to read the man's intentions on his face.

"Everyone's in the database," he counters defensively. "They couldn't be admitted otherwise."

"Not unless a certain someone refused to give blood because they thought the 'rebels' would use their DNA to make an army of clones," the psychiatrist almost sing-songs. Heero's mouth opens and closes several times before he finally rips open the folder, his eyes scanning mercilessly over the information within.

"I'll see you around, Heero," Michael says quietly, squeezing the man's shoulder before turning and opening the door. "Don't be a stranger."

0 o 0 o 0

_Epilogue:_

"Hello, Benjamin."

The man looks up from his position on the couch in the Haeman Institute's lounge area as his name is mentioned, staring blankly at the figure towering over him.

"Heero! I thought they got you! Where have you been? They didn't _implant_ you, did they? God damn rebels. They'll get you every time!"

Heero sits cautiously next to the older man, staring at him studiously. He doesn't know why he didn't see it before. Besides the eyes and the chin, everything else is fairly similar between them.

"No," he responds with as warm a smile as he can muster. "No, I've been looking for someone . . . My brother. He's been missing for a long time."

"Did you find him?" Benjamin asks curiously, leaning in close.

"Yes," Heero nods. "Yes, I did. He's very sick . . . but he's getting better."

"That's good," the older man smiles, wrapping a long arm around Heero's shoulders. "That's real good."

"Benjy?" Heero asks softly, and Benjamin looks at him with an inquisitive gaze. "I was wondering if I might . . . if I might be able to read you a story? One that my brother used to read to me?"

"I'd like that, Heero," Benjamin smiles widely, sitting back on the sofa and curling his legs up against his chest to rest his head against his knees. "I'd like that a lot."

Heero gives a genuine smile, holding back the tears that well in his eyes as he pulls out a worn copy of _The Metamorphosis _and begins to read.

_End_

AN: Questions? Comments? Vague disregard to any or all words written and established in the mind of one who has no sanity?

Okay, Ladies and Gents. Thus ends this epic tale of . . . eight chapters? That's all? Oh well. They're LONG chapters, right? So, I'll be seeing you guys around. Don't be afraid to check out my other fics. I'm not _that_ horrible of a writer . . . most of the time. :) Later, Gators! I will catch you all on the flip side!


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